A Complete Waste of Time
by Odainath
Summary: Harry has returned after a month-long incarceration, the Russians are still titchy about Sugarhorse and the Americans are ... the Americans. How do the powers-that-be plan to deal with this? With paperwork of course


**A Complete Waste of Time  
**By: Odainath

* * *

**Author's notes: **This is complete and utter nonsense so you have been warned in advance. It is inspired by the ludicrous amounts of quizzes, surveys, personality tests, personal and professional development workshops, etcetera that I have been forced to endure over my life.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own 'Spooks'; it is the property of Kudos and the BBC.

**Summary: **Harry has returned after a month-long incarceration, the Russians are still titchy about Sugarhorse and the Americans are ... the Americans. How do the powers-that-be plan to deal with this? With paperwork of course.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The torture begins.**

* * *

"You are not to confer answers with your colleagues. Any talking is prohibited. You will be given two hours to complete the questions. Your time starts now."

The woman – a mysterious new arrival from on-high - left the room. The members of Section D watched her go, all with a combination of annoyance, curiosity and plain incredulation on their faces. There had been no warning about the questionnaire. Even Harry had admitted that it was news to him and he found out only this morning when he was ordered to gather his team into the conference room. Once there, however, it all became painfully clear. MI-5 superiors, the faceless bureaucrats that no one really knew but who all loathed, had decided that in light of recent events; Tiresias 'waking' (nearly), the averted nuclear attack on London, Harry's incarceration, Ros and Lucas' near death experience, Ruth's return to the Grid and the generally critical reading of terrorism, meant that it was the perfect time for 'bonding'.

Bonding in the form of a questionnaire.

Inwardly groaning, all of Section D flicked the page and read question one.

xXXXx

"Question One. What is your favourite animal?"

Ruth looked at the paper; sure that she had misread the question. They wouldn't seriously want to know her favourite animal, would they? It had no bearing on her work. She closed her eyes, opened them, slightly aghast to find that she wasn't hallucinating. She glanced to the side. Jo looked similarly surprised and Ruth tilted her head slightly to read the younger woman's answer.

_Lobster_.

Jo's lips were twitching and Ruth shook her head as she returned to her paper.

She may as well write the truth.

_Cat_.

One down... Ruth quickly flicked through the paper and fought the urge to groan... forty-nine to go...

xXXXx

Ros was fuming.

This was a complete and utter waste of time... and resources for that matter. The money that would have gone into making up the questions, going through the questions again, writing them down, typing them up, printing them on paper, distributing them, not to mention the provided pens and pencils... it was all money that was better spent catching terrorists. The questionnaire's creators were virtually accomplices to mass murder.

She frowned.

"Question two. What is your favourite colour?"

Her frown deepened. How the bloody hell did she know? It depended on the time of day, hormones, how she felt that particular moment....

Ros tapped her pen against the page, wanting to look at Malcolm's paper, but deciding against it. She was Section Chief; she should know what bloody colour was her favourite! However, the fact remained that she didn't.

A sigh.

So, she herself didn't know what colour she liked, she would have to answer via elimination.

Black; too morbid, and she'd been terrified of the dark when she was small so a colour which incited a childhood fear probably wasn't her favourite. Even though it could be argued that black wasn't a colour, it was a shade...

"Pfft!"

Her rather vehement snort made everyone look at her sharply, most leaving no doubt about their opinion of her sanity.

Okay, not black. Moving on quickly...

Blue; she still had issues with water over the Thames Barrier operation, though technically water was clear so that theoretically put blue back in the running. But blue was also associated with depression and Ros stated frequently that she wasn't one for 'emotional incontinence'. She shook her head; so blue was out, onto the next option.

Green; she'd never liked green for reasons unknown to herself; she'd grown up surrounded by green, and it was beautiful, and the countryside was stunning in summer when green was a prominent colour. But the green was almost unnaturally... well, green.

A deep sigh; green was a no-go as well, then.

Yellow; no one looked good in yellow (even supermodels had a hard time pulling it off) and she hated it anyway. It was too... happy, not that she was maudlin, it was just more a false happy. Like custard creams, and she hated custard creams...

White; it was the colour of ice and she was generally labelled the 'Ice Queen.' A title that she hated at school but which she rather liked now. So white was a maybe.

Red; she felt homicidal at the moment.

Another frown.

_Red_.

xXXXx

Harry couldn't quite believe what he was reading. It was bad enough when Richard Dalby – who hadn't forgiven Harry for making him look like an utter idiot – had called to tell him to go to the office earlier than usual. But now having to go through the excruciating experience that was this questionnaire...

He gritted his teeth as he turned the page.

"Question four. What three items would you bring if you were stuck on a desert island?"

He wouldn't get himself stuck on a deserted island in the sodding first place! It would be an utterly stupid thing to do but even if he did, by some mysterious twist of fate, he'd only really need one item: a mobile phone; preferably with a satellite connection and tracking capabilities. That way he could call the Grid, notably Malcolm, who would organise a helicopter to come and get him off the afore-mentioned deserted island, even if he wouldn't get stuck on an island in the first place.

Harry blew out a long breath through his nose.

He might like something to amuse himself with whilst he waited for the helicopter. A good book for one, and he'd definitely need alcohol.

Harry put his pen to the page.

_Mobile phone, book, single-malt whiskey._

xXXXx

"Question six. What is your favourite kitchen item and why?"

Jo blinked.

She didn't have a favourite kitchen item; they were just... well items. That one used; in a kitchen. Should she have an attachment to a kitchen utensil? Was she alone in this world; part of a small clan which had no affection for a specific kitchen item?

Was she going mad? Possibly.

Jo glanced upward and her eyes fell on Harry. He was looking slightly harassed; his shirt and tie, usually perfectly straight, had acquired a slightly dishevelled look. She tried not to think that it rather suited him. She looked back down at the paper, annoyed to find that the question hadn't disappeared. If they'd asked her what stationary item was her favourite she would be able to answer in an instant. A pen with a click lid; though Ros had threatened to kill her numerous times when she clicked the said pen; so had Harry for that matter. Maybe she was unconsciously thinking of unique brands of suicide.

Death by click pen.

Shaking her head, Jo made herself think about the question.

Knives could too easily be used as weapons; spoons were just silly to look at; as were ladles and other stirring items; forks... Connie had told her that Ros had killed someone with a fork, so maybe not that either.

She sighed as she finally wrote her answer.

_Saucepan_.

Though if you hit someone hard enough... Jo crossed through 'saucepan' and changed her answer to...

_Teapot._

xXXXx

Malcolm wrote steadily to the end of page before turning over. The next question made his eyebrows rise.

"Question nine. What are your opinions of Freud and the idea of an 'Oedipus Complex'?

The unnamed powers wanted to know if they secretly lusted for their parents? Or did they simply run out of time and so had thrown in Freud hoping to make themselves seem more illustrious? Or were they complete and utter idiots?

He sniffed.

He'd never liked psychology but had been forced to take a subject when at Oxford. He'd passed with flying colours (naturally) but still, he'd loathed every moment and this question was making all that tedious rubbish come flooding back...

_A complete load of nonsense._

He looked to the side at Ros who was at the same question. Her answer was the same albeit less... polite.

_Bullshit._

xXXXx

"Question nine. Are you able to speak more than language? What are they?"

Lucas obviously knew Russian, being in a Russian prison for eight years ensured that one became quite fluent. That and he had a Russian wife. A proper 'had', that was, as in 'had had' in the past sense. They were divorced now. So he knew two languages; Russian and English.

Not bad.

He looked to his right and felt slightly crushed when he read Ros' answer.

_English, Spanish, Russian, French, Arabic (fluent)_

A feeling that only increased when he looked over to Ruth.

_English, French, Spanish, Arabic, Persian, Latin, Ancient Greek (fluent.)_

Annoyed, he went back to the questionnaire.

Who the hell spoke Latin and Persian and bloody Ancient Greek, anyway?

xXXXx

"Question eleven. What prompted you to join MI-5?"

Ros scowled; it was becoming a common occurrence. She knew why she joined MI-5; it was the only career option left open to her after her father and his brilliantly conceived and ultimately doomed-to-fail coup. MI-6 wouldn't touch her and Adam's offer was a welcome relief.

She wasn't writing that. It was too personal and Ros was, in anything, secretive. It was a necessary attribute in this line of work.

_I felt it my duty to help protect my country._

Untrue, but it would do.

xXXXx

"Question thirteen. What do you think about espionage?"

Ruth tried to imagine that she was somewhere else. Not in this room; not with this quiz; though perhaps with a certain head of MI-5... She jolted herself back to the present; Harry had nothing to do with espionage. Well he did but she wasn't going to reveal too much because of the small fact that she was a spy and spies didn't reveal very much at all. However, she didn't have to go into specifics and he did have a role in espionage...

Smirking, she wrote in long and flamboyant script.

_Perfectly all right when it involves Harry Pearce; preferably in a leather jacket._

Next to her, Lucas glanced over and his face twisted into an expression of horror. His eyes widened as far too many images ran through his mind, each more horrific than the last. By the time Harry and Ruth danced across his mind 'at it' on Harry's desk he was distinctly nauseous. Shaking himself back to reality where Harry and Ruth were strictly professional and nowhere near a desk, he went back to his paper.

Harry appeared again... in leather...

Choking slightly, he looked around the table, searching for a distraction of some sort, _any_ sort. They fell on Ros who was tapping her nails against the table.

Ros in leather...

He breathed a sigh of relief; now there was a much more palatable image.

So onto his own question. "Question fourteen. If you were an animal, what would you be?"

He leant back in his chair; did they not realise the irony of the question? Humans were animals. Rendering this question effectively moot.

_A human._

He looked around the table again. Ros was still drumming her fingers and brushed back a wilful lock of hair away from her face. He would have to thank her later for providing such a welcome distraction... though he might not tell her _how_...

xXXXx

Jo found herself doodling on the corner of the page; little, intricate designs, of flowers mainly, that criss-crossed over each other making a pattern.

Harry looked up, saw her paper, and glared.

Abashed, Jo returned to the quiz.

"Question sixteen. What is your favourite board game and why?"

She wasn't really been a fan of board games; she never had been. 'Guess Who' was annoying, scrabble was boring, monopoly was tedious but that depended on who you were playing with. She'd quite liked playing with her brother, the game was usually friendly and involved much laughter but her sister was entirely different. Her sister was incredibly competitive and would negotiate winning before she began to play. She made a set of rules enabling her to be lent money if she went bankrupt so she could continue with the game and eventually win.

So, not monopoly.

Shrugging her shoulders Jo looked to her right and copied Lucas's answer.

_Trivial pursuit._

xXXXx

"Question eighteen. Would you rather be blind or deaf?"

Harry felt like hurling the paper into the bin but thought it may be a bad example to his officers so he gritted his teeth as he thought about the question. He was in the Security Services; one generally needed all five (six if you counted intuition) senses to be successful. And he was highly-ranked so he definitely needed all five. Which rendered this question redundant.

If he answered it as if he was a lesser rank...

He tilted his head to read Ros's answer.

_I need all of them, you sodding idiots._

Perhaps not Ros's then. Maybe Lucas...

Lucas had left the question blank, perhaps deciding that it was not worth the time.

So, Jo...

_I need all of them, you sodding idiots._

Apparently he wasn't the only one checking answers with the rest of the team, though he might have a private word to Jo that Ros probably wasn't the best person to copy from. To Malcolm...

_My job requires I have all my senses. Therefore, I would like to be neither blind nor deaf._

Inwardly growling, Harry didn't bother checking anyone else's as he wrote down his own answer.

_Need all; next question._

xXXXx

Malcolm fought the urge to sleep as he struggled onward with this inane piece of paperwork.

"Question nineteen. Do you believe that you procrastinate?"

He glanced around the table at his colleagues; all of them highly respected intelligence officers. Jo was tapping her pen against the table; Ros was glowering at Jo, then the pen, then the paper, then Jo again; Lucas looked mildly disgusted as he looked at his paper, then his gaze would drift to Ros and his cheeks would redden; Ruth was stealing covert glances at Harry who looked ready to kill.

Sighing, he jotted down his answer.

_Ask me later; I'm practicing 'observational skills.'_

xXXXx

She'd thought the questions couldn't get more ridiculous but apparently she had been wrong. Jo resisted the urge to tear the paper in half and settled for arranging it carefully in front of her, ensuring her hands didn't shake too much from sheer frustration.

"Question twenty. Hand is to glove as foot is to....."

This really was a load of bollocks. The answer was obvious and yet...

A smirk as she jotted down on the questionnaire.

_Handbag._

xXXXx

"Question twenty-two. What are your opinions about civil liberties?"

Ros leant back in her chair, mouth pursed. This was a rather odd question to be on a survey given to Secret Service officials. Their job, by its very nature, meant that they occasionally stepped over the boundaries of civil liberties. Was this then a potential trap? To see how far they'd go? If she wrote the truth that she didn't give a toss about civil liberties when there were thousands of lives at risk, would it filed for future reference? It could even incriminate her at some point. Or it could simply be a mundane question. Maybe she had been in this job too long and was becoming too paranoid.

But it was a paranoid world.

Maybe if she put a reference to 'Big Brother' (Orwell, not the television show) she might gain extra points for being well-read and they'd forget the actual content of her answer. Or they'd think her insane. She stole a glance at Ruth's page but quickly looked away. Harry's acolyte had already taken up three-quarters of a page with this question alone. Not surprising given how her civil liberties had been ripped to shreds; she felt a twinge of guilt that she had been a part of this process, though in her defence she had simply been doing her job. And she'd learned her lesson; she'd never do it again.

Ros made a face.

How should she answer?

She threw a look to Lucas who promptly dropped his pen onto the ground.

She shook her head.

Odd man.

Moving on...

_Civil liberties are part of the fabric of our society and should be respected._

A load of codswallop but it should keep the surveyors happy.

xXXXx

"Question twenty-four. 'Frankly, my dear..."

Ruth's brow furrowed. Did she have to simply fill in the rest of the quote, which was painfully obvious; even those who hadn't seen 'Gone with the Wind' knew that answer. Maybe it was just one of those questions that everyone was meant to get right.

Although...

She looked at Lucas.

_Frankly, my dear, this quiz is rather ridiculous._

So, maybe not everyone knew it or he might be being facetious. That was entirely possible.

Sighing, she filled in the blanks.

_Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn._

She'd always been competitive when it came to academia and now didn't seem the time to change the habit of a lifetime.

xXXXx

"Question twenty-five. What came first, the chicken or the egg?"

Harry fought the urge to beat something. People had written books on this sort of question; sometimes more than one book if they were so inclined. And he was expected to give a thorough answer in a two hour exam? Dream on.

Scowling, he scribbled what came to mind.

_Too hard; must ponder._

xXXXx

"Question twenty-eight. Would you rather be a vampire or a werewolf?"

Lucas felt his brow furrow in confusion. He wouldn't really like to be either. One was a blood-sucking fiend and the other had moon issues. Not really the sort of fantasy creatures one sought to be. A wizard on the other hand... They could fire spells, make themselves invisible, brew potions to turn their enemies into toads. Yes, definitely a wizard. Like Merlin; he'd always liked Merlin when he was a child. He was... plucky. In the manner that an old man could be plucky of course, maybe that was the wrong word.

Feeling marginally happier, he constructed another box and wrote 'Merlin.' He ticked it and prepared to move on when Ros hissed in his ear.

"It's vampire or werewolf."

"I wouldn't want to be either," he replied. "I like wizards and Merlin was my favourite as a child..."

"Merlin wasn't a sodding wizard, you fool."

Lucas felt affronted. "Yes, he was!"

"He wasn't," said Ros, as if explaining something excruciatingly simple to a three-year-old. "His actual title was 'Celidonius _the_ Merlin.' He was a spy with an extensive network that sent messages at incredible speed. He excelled at disguise and had vast knowledge of plants and their properties. Over the years, these became almost legendary until he was considered a 'wizard'."

Lucas opened his mouth, no doubt to give a snappy retort, when Ruth interrupted.

"She's right."

"Ha!" Ros said triumphantly. "See!"

"Well, it really depends," inserted Jo thoughtfully. "On which version you read. In some the world of Arthur, Guinevere and Merlin is complete fantasy where magic is rampant. Merlin would be considered a wizard there, a magical wizard, surely."

"But he wasn't," said Ros stubbornly. "He was a spy."

"In _your_ version..."

"The proper version!"

"Just because you have no imagination and can't fathom the concept of magic, Ros," said Lucas snidely, "doesn't mean the rest of us are the same."

"I have imagination!" Ros spat.

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Enough!"

Harry's voice cut through their argument and the two fell silent, though continued to glare at each other. Harry looked ready to maim and/or murder and both (wisely) took the decision to pull their papers towards them and continue with the quiz. Lucas kept shooting glares at Ros who looked supremely unconcerned.

Witch.

He leant forward to see her answer, not at all surprised to read 'vampire.'

Blood-sucking witch.

A pause.

Blood-sucking witch in leather.

Oh dear.

xXXXx

Malcolm kept his head down, not trusting himself to not laugh at Ros and Lucas's adolescent display. It really was amusing how far people could be brought back (age-wise) when given such an absurd piece of paperwork. He'd never thought it possible that Ros could be so childish and spent a few seconds imagining what she was like when she was younger.

Probably quite similar but with a less deadly right hook.

He made himself (reluctantly) focus on the quiz.

"Question twenty-nine. How would you feel about being naked in front of an audience?"

Malcolm felt himself begin to palpitate at the mere thought. Him; naked; in front of people.

It didn't bear thinking about.

Grimacing, he wrote a short and succinct answer.

_Awful._

xXXXx

Jo had resumed doodling; it was just as constructive as filling out this quiz and infinitely more interesting. Around her, some of the team was doing the same. Ros' drawings were more angular, almost as if she was imaging knives and saw blades, which was entirely possible. Ruth's looked like cursive script; soothing to the eyes whilst Malcolm's were neat and orderly.

"Question thirty-two. If you were an animal, what would you be?"

"Eh?"

Unfortunately she spoke aloud and five sets of eyes looked at her with amusement. Embarrassed she returned to the paper.

She had no bloody idea!

No reptiles; she hated scales which ruled out snakes, lizards, komodo dragons... even fish. A cat, maybe? Nah, too obvious. Dog? No, they were so affectionate _all_ the time, and so grateful when you spend even the smallest amount of time with them. It made her feel... disrespectful that she grouse about anything even for a moment when they were so unfoundly happy.

Not a dog then.

Something dangerous...

_Eagle._

Across the table, she read Ros's answer; if this job had taught her anything it was the ability to read upside down.

_Snow leopard._

Definitely suitable.

xXXXx

"Question thirty-three. Do you believe that you cope with grief well?"

Malcolm held his pen poised above the page. If you worked in Section D you had to be able to cope well with grief. It had a frightening turn-around of agents, some who left by choice and others by manners foul.

Tom, Danny, Zoe, Tessa, Fiona, Adam, Ben, Connie, Ros (for a time), Colin...

His throat constricted as pen was put to paper.

_I try._

xXXXx

Harry was thinking up methods that he could implement to ensure that whoever wrote this test would never be able to do again. It would send a message.

Blood for blood... all right, blood for waste-of-time.

Not quite the same thing, but all most.

He scowled (Ruth would label it a 'pout'); "Question thirty-four. Do you believe you cope well under stress?"

Of course he sodding did! He was the head of a _security service._ The defence of the realm rested (partly) on his shoulders. If he turned into a blubbering wreck under stress the country would be in grave danger.

More than usual, that was.

Scowling (not pouting) he wrote an emphatic _'yes!'_

xXXXx

"Question thirty-seven. Are you a cat or a dog person?"

Ros was sure that her hair was currently standing on its end; probably as if she had received an electric shock. She had thought this quiz was simply silly when she started but when she'd been forced to answer whether or not she preferred roses to daffodils (roses, of course, they had spikes) and or milk to soft drink (that answer had taken a full page when she'd got a little _too_ enthusiastic) she now thought it a complete and utter ludicrous and pathetic piece of officialise no doubt engineered by sad souls who had nothing better to do with their time. Probably because they had no girlfriend. After all, who could bear to be with someone who gave serious thought to whether or not someone flossed or didn't floss?

Scowling, she returned to the question.

She didn't really like either to be honest. Ros had never been one for pets, much preferring her own company. Which made her more like a cat... but that didn't make her a cat person. The way they looked at you with those unblinking eyes was decidedly disconcerting. And dogs were either too affectionate or thought nothing of ripping your throat out. The words 'mentally deranged' came to mind...

She rolled her eyes as she scrawled on the page.

_Antelope._

xXXXx

"Question thirty-eight. What is your favourite number and why?"

Ruth suppressed the urge to bang her head on the desk. She had a favourite number but even she didn't fully understand... still, she had best try.

_Forty-five; this is because five is my second favourite number and I don't like the number four and the two added together is nine which is my third favourite number._

She leant back in her chair. They would think her a nutcase. A complete and utter nutcase. A raving bloody lunatic.

She scanned everyone else's answers, hoping to find someone as mad as her.

Maybe Lucas.

_Eight; how many years I was in prison; how many years I resisted torture; how many years I resisted attempts to turn me; how many years I refused to be anything other than a MI-5 agent; how many years I remained loyal to my country._

Damn; his answer was noble.

To Ros.

_One; I have loved three men, I have lost two men. Do the maths._

Surprisingly personal from the Section Chief.

Jo?

_Four; because it's pretty._

She breathed a sigh of relief; thank god for the younger woman, though how four could be 'pretty' was beyond her.

xXXXx

Across the table, Lucas was trying to resist the desire to tear his hair out. His mind seemed adamant that he be tortured with images of Harry and Ruth in positions that left no doubt they had been reading the Kama Sutra. Even an eight-year incarceration wasn't as bad as imagining your boss and his partner you know... at it.

He shuddered and moved on.

"Question forty. How do you usually walk? Fairly fast with long steps; fairly fast with little steps; less fast, head up, looking the world in the face; less fast, head down; very slowly."

They had to be joking. Surely he was seeing things.

He blinked very slowly.

The question remained.

How did he walk? He just ... did it. At whatever speed was required. If he was following someone who walked fast, he walked fast. Ditto if they walked slow. What category did that come under then? How fast did he walk to the ... grocery store? Generally fast as he wanted something to eat, but sometimes he wanted to meander...

His nose severely wrinkled, Lucas finally scribbled...

_I strut._

xXXXx

Ros felt a sense of relief when she realised she had eight questions to go. _Eight questions_ and this torment would be over.

"Question forty-two. Do you consider yourself a leader?"

She rolled her eyes.

_I'm the Section Chief of Section D; what do you think?_

xXXXx

Jo blinked one, then twice, then three times, certain she was seeing things. Ros Myers couldn't possibly be smiling, could she? Not when she was in the midst of this mild torture.

Sadist.

She rolled her eyes; of course the woman was; she killed someone with a sodding _fork_!!! Jo still hadn't got over that and never looked at forks in the same banal way. They were like a devil's tail, but with four spikes. Spikes that could pierce skin and shred someone's jugular vein; or carotid artery but that was much more messy and she doubted Ros would want her clothes (all designer brand; how she afforded them was anyone's guess) to be stained with blood.

A smile; Jo could remember how Ros was after she and Adam were pulled from the Thames. Rather than be furious with Harry about effectively letting them drown she had ordered him to reimburse her for her favourite, very expensive (and not-at-all water-proof) leather jacket.

She shook her head.

Right, to the question.

"Question forty-three. Do you prefer white or multi-grain bread?"

She closed her eyes for several seconds. Nope, she wasn't hallucinating.

She liked white bread, there were no seeds or grains that could get stuck in your teeth and it made the best toast but it wasn't particularly good for you. So, multi-grain? But she really didn't like it. But what if they were checking the health habits of their officers?

A groan.

_Multi-grain._

Untrue, but she liked her job.

xXXXx

"Question forty-five. Do you like the Russians?"

Harry frowned; was this a trick question? It was like asking if he liked the Irish.

That is; no.

Smiling to himself, he wrote down his (entirely untruthful) answer.

_Of course, they're my best friends._

Ros, who was near completion by the looks of things, caught his smile. She looked over, puzzled, and promptly choked on the water she'd been drinking. Jo was forced to hit the older woman on the back, slamming her with such force that Ros was pushed forward so far her forehead nearly hit the desk.

The words 'if looks could kill' came to mind at the glare that Jo received for that manoeuvre.

xXXXx

"Question forty-seven. Are you at ease with your appearance?"

Lucas' nostrils flared at the question. If he wrote 'yes' he ran the risk of sounding arrogant. He knew that he wasn't _unattractive_ so maybe if he wrote that...

He looked, as was becoming common, to Ros. Her answer was simple.

_Yes._

Not surprising; Ros was nothing if not sure of herself and her abilities. To be fair, however, she had no reason to be unhappy with her appearance; nor had Jo, or Ruth, or Harry... even Malcolm was good-looking in a nerdy, Malcolm-ish way.

He cast his mind back.

Adam had been good-looking, Ben had been good-looking, and Connie had been good-looking...

Interesting.

Maybe it was a prerequisite of Section D. The unstated 'must be attractive.' In this case he should be chuffed that he was a member of the 'good-looking brigade.'

Feeling slightly taller, he wrote a neat _'yes.'_

xXXXx

"Question forty-nine. Truth or dare?"

Ruth's pen hovered over the page. She'd hated the game as a child. It didn't matter what she chose, she always ended up with something horrific.

Examples: having to tell her current crush how she felt about him; climbing the wall of a two-storey building and being caught by the Headmistress and given a month's worth of detentions; swimming underwater for the length of the pool and nearly drowning...

Ruth frowned.

_Double dare._

She may as well take someone down with her.

xXXXx

"Question fifty."

Malcolm felt like cheering when he read those two words. Finally, he was at the end, with only one minute to go, and this god-forsaken piece of paperwork would be taken away, filed, and never seen again.

He coughed.

"What do you think of this quiz?"

Did they want a true opinion? Or should he give them what they wanted to hear? That this quiz was a wonderful idea. He couldn't in good conscience write that.

Panicking as the seconds drew closer, he looked at everyone else's papers.

_Ros; pathetic, ridiculous, ludicrous, abhorrent, abominable, silly, stupid..._

He looked away when he noticed that the adjectives took up a large portion of the page; maybe he wouldn't copy Ros's answer.

_Ruth; waste of time._

_Jo; could drive one to lunacy._

Lucas was still writing and Malcolm peered closer, eyebrows rising when Lucas wrote 'leather', crossed it out, then wrote 'ridiculous.' From the way he had been looking at Ros and blushing, he didn't want to know what on earth 'leather' meant. Unless it was a secret code the two had devised...

Doubtful.

_Harry; nonsense._

Sighing, Malcolm wrote his own.

_Worthy only of shredding._

* * *

**Author's notes: **I hope you enjoyed the quiz. I've started the next chapter but I'm not sure when it will be up. Hopefully soon.  
Please review,  
_Odainath_


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